He rose and paced past her into the kitchen. She followed. He leaned over the sink, splashing cold water over his face. His breathing came in spurts. She’d never seen him like this before, and she felt fear’s icy grasp clinging to her ankles and climbing her calves—threatening to drag her down.
“Did they say why?”
“No. I asked Helmut, and he wouldn’t answer me.” Johannes reached a hand out to turn her chin so she was facing him. “He wouldn’t even look at me, Trude. I’ve known him a decade. My father knew him in the army—even before the war. A lifetime. He wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”
“But what does this mean?”
“I can’t get them out. Not through Helmut at least.”
“What about us? Johannes, you promised me there was still time.”
He didn’t answer. He stared out the window, his expression glazed and distant.
They stood there in the kitchen for long moments. It seemed an eternity. She’d never seen him like this.
She closed her eyes, remembering the first time they’d met. He’d shone with confidence and strength. There he was, arguing hotly with a group of young privileged Junkers at the university. He, a young Jew. A nobody, a nothing to them. He’d stood up to them, shouted them down with logic and force of character. She’d been drawn to him, metal to a magnet—attracted by his power.
Now he was silent, distant, shaken. She tugged at his arm. “Johannes, what are we going to do?”
He didn’t answer, as if he couldn’t see her or hear her. She waited, the minutes stumbling by. She heard Britta clomping around above. A bird landed in a tree outside their window, hopping along a branch. She tried to watch it, labored to be patient.
“Johannes,” she whispered. This time he responded. She watched the color return to his cheeks, a tide washing up the shore. The shade transformed from light pink to angry scarlet. His arm trembled beneath her hands. His eyes were bloodshot, staring through her.
“They won’t do this to me,” he said, his voice shaking.
“What will you do?”
“Helmut is one man. I know others. I will go to them. If he’s turned coward, others won’t abandon us. I’ll talk to Gunther.”
“But he’s a Nazi! A real one,” she protested.
“Who isn’t these days? He’s a friend of the family. Besides, he has better connections than even Helmut.”
“You didn’t go to him before because he joined the party.”
He took her hands in his. The fire was back. “Desperate times, my dear.”
“What if he turns you in?”
“He wouldn’t dare. None of them will. That worm Helmut wouldn’t. He might deny me—might refuse further help—but he would never do more. My father . . .”
“Is gone.”
“His honor isn’t—nor is his reputation.”
“How long can that protect us?”
“A while more. It must.”
He pulled his hands away, turning from her. He started toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To see Gunther.”
“Don’t do it now!” she pleaded. “I’m scared. Please stay with us today. You can see him tomorrow.”
“I have to go. There’s no time. I have to secure thirteen visas.”
“Thirteen? Then you mean . . .”
“Yes, my love. It’s time for us to leave.”
Her heart sang with relief. She threw her arms around her husband, holding him tight. She felt his hands stiff on her back.
“Will you be able to get the visas?”
“I must go and see. My father saved Gunther’s life. He owes us. He may be a Nazi now, but he has one favor in him—at least I’ll wager that.”
“Oh, Johannes. Thank you! I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be back tonight with better news. You should start thinking about what you will take. We can’t bring the furniture. Only necessities. A suitcase or two apiece.”
After he departed, she remained in the kitchen, standing dazed and unsure. They would finally leave this terrible place. But could he secure the visas? He’d always done so in the past, but she could sense their time was running out. The storm clouds were amassing over Europe.
Trude spent the afternoon in the house, cleaning and keeping Britta busy. She began a list of what they might need to take with them. The hours limped by. She visited the clock too often. As her mind flitted through images and thoughts, she found her lips muttering a prayer. She shook her head. Why bother? What had the father of Israel ever done for his people except keep them in bondage and suffering?
When she did not believe she could take it any longer, she heard the familiar jingle of keys at the door. Johannes had returned. She searched his face for answers as he clambered into the kitchen, Britta clinging to his waist. Something was wrong. That expression. What was it? Defeat? Not quite, but not triumph, either.
“Britta, take father’s coat upstairs, please.” He tossed his jacket over her. The material nearly buried her, but she held it over her head, giggling at this game they’d never played before. She waddled down the hallway and started up the stairs.
“He said no,” she said, sure she was right.
Johannes shook his head. “He said yes.”
“Then we are safe.”
“For a price.”
“What price?”
“He wants ten thousand Reichsmarks.”
“What? How dare he! But—we should be able to come up with that.”
“Ten thousand each.”
She gasped. “He wants 130,000 Reichsmarks. We don’t have that. We can’t raise that.”
He nodded. “It’s quite a sum.”
“What about thirty thousand? We might be able to come up with that.” She felt terrible when she said it. Selfish.
He looked her over, his eyes appraising her. She saw the flicker of disappointment. “Do you mean save ourselves and leave the others? Never.”
“What difference does it make? We can’t rescue everyone. At what point do you protect your family?”
“I won’t go without the others.” He shook his head violently, as if driving the thought from his mind.
“Why?” she demanded. Her heart pumped the guilt through her veins, but she didn’t care. This was her family. Her daughter. “If you save those ten, how many more remain? A thousand? Ten thousand? They have no way to leave. You’ve done as much as you can.”
His back stiffened. The scarlet washed over his cheeks again. “There are fifteen hundred or so and I won’t leave them!” he said, his voice molten iron. She wilted. She knew he would never change his mind.
“What are you going to do then? How are you going to save us?”
“Is that all you care about? Saving only us?”
He stabbed her with shame. “No, that’s not all. But this is our daughter, Johannes. This is our family. I’ve waited patiently. I’ve kept my faith in you.” She stepped closer, grabbing the front of his shirt. Her hands were shaking. “You have to get us out. You promised me.”
He drew away. “This is bigger than us. Greater than you and me. You told me you understood that, but you obviously didn’t.” His expression dripped disdain. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ve never failed you. I’ll get us out, but I won’t leave the others behind. They’ve put their lives in my hands.” He marched out.
“Where are you going?” she cried. Fiery tears burned her cheeks. She felt wretched. He was right. She cared only about their family. She wanted to feel more, but at the end, it came down to the three of them. She knew there were no more chances. They had to leave now.
“I’m going to go get our Reichsmarks. I’m going to raise the money and get us out of here. All of us.”
He stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
“What’s wrong, Mutter?” Britta stared up in concern. “Where’s Father? Did you have a fight?”
&nbs
p; “No, dear. Vater had to run some errands. He will be back soon.”
“Why were you yelling at each other?”
“We weren’t yelling. We were just talking about a few things.”
“Then why are you crying?”
Trude ran a hand over her cheek, wiping away the tears. “I’m not. Everything’s fine. I promise.”
Britta ran into her mother’s arms. “I’m scared.”
“I know. It’s going to be all right. Do you want to play a game?”
“What kind?”
“Hide-and-seek?”
Britta giggled in delight. Trude envied her daughter. Oh, to be young and without the cares of the world.
“Hurry up and hide now. I’ll start counting.”
Britta tottered off, scrambling up the stairs. Her voice shaking, Trude began counting slowly: “Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf.” She labored to pull herself together. He’s always come through. Every time. He’s right, this is bigger than just us. He will find a way to raise the money, and he will save us all.
They played for an hour, then Trude turned to making dinner. She was thankful for the distraction of preparing their meal. The familiar, mechanical duties kept her busy and passed some of this endless day. She and her daughter ate dinner in silence. The clock was her enemy again, clinging to each minute stubbornly as if she were willing the hands to advance. She cleared the dishes and read Britta a story, a crackling fire flicking across the worn pages of the book as she muttered the wooden words. Nine o’clock. He still wasn’t home. What if something had gone wrong?
She put Britta to bed and turned on the radio. The news was awash with rumors of war. The commentator lashed out at the Poles, the French, and the English. Absent was criticism of the Russians and communism. After years of constant attacks by the Nazis, now apparently the Bolsheviks were their friends and worthy of praise. How could the German people not see the hypocrisy of their leader and the party? The Nazis repeated their lies until the people believed them. The truth was what the Führer willed it to be.
The door jingled again and her heart stuttered. A flash of gray material. Johannes was back, this time striding in with triumph etched on his chiseled jaw.
“You’ve done it,” she said.
He nodded.
“How?”
“I’ve pulled every string. Every favor from every German I know, high and low, neighbor and Nazi. I’ve sold everything, promised the future, but I’ve raised the money.”
“What do you mean you sold everything?”
“Our estates. My father’s property, everything we had.”
“But you don’t own that property. That’s your father’s to sell.”
“He’s never coming back, Trude. Neither are we. Germany is dead to us forever.”
She was stunned. His father was worth millions. He had land all over Prussia. She wanted to argue further, but she knew there was no point. Johannes was right; they had to leave and they would never be coming back.
She ran into his arms, holding him, sobbing anew.
He patted her back. “Everything will be fine, my love. Didn’t I tell you so?”
“Where are the visas?”
“I don’t have them yet. Gunther will deliver them tomorrow. He wants to pick up everything first.”
Her heart froze. “What do you mean?”
He gestured around him. “All this. We can’t take it with us. I sold as much as I could directly to him. He’s sending movers over tomorrow to retrieve it.”
She looked around at their furniture. They had only brought what was most precious to them when they’d been forced to move here. But they’d brought the best. Handcrafted pieces from all over Europe. Some of them hundreds of years old. Family heirlooms. She shook her head. All of it was going away. Still, what did she expect? When they left, they would be able to take only a few items. Clothes mostly. A few pictures, their jewelry. All the rest would be in the hands of a grubby little middle-class Nazi whom she wouldn’t have glanced at on the street a few years ago.
She closed her eyes and breathed. None of that mattered. They would be leaving. They would have visas tomorrow. She imagined boarding a ship bound for England. In a few days, they would be with their parents. Safe. She held him closer and whispered a prayer again. She was thankful. If there was a God, she owed him one. And she owed her husband, who always came through.
The next morning Trude was awakened by a sharp banging on the door. She clothed herself quickly and hurried down the stairs. She was greeted at the threshold by four burly men, dressed in gray overalls.
“You are the Jew Bensheim?” asked one of them, looking her up and down appraisingly.
“I’m Trude Bensheim,” she responded, taken aback by his tone.
“You mean Sarah Bensheim, don’t you?” he asked. He was referring to the requirement that all Jews add the name Sarah for a woman or Israel for a man.
“I’m Trude,” she answered defiantly.
“We’re here for the furniture,” he said, ignoring her response. “You need to leave while we’re here.”
“Why?” she asked. “I need to see what you’re taking.”
“We’re taking all of it,” he said, laughing while he stroked his stubbly cheek with fat fingers. He looked her over again with a leer. “So you should leave. Unless you’re part of the goods.”
The men laughed, and she felt hot humiliation. “There are things I need to take. I’ll need a few minutes.”
He shrugged. “Help yourself, but all the big stuff stays.”
The men pushed their way in and started moving furniture around in the sitting room. She wanted to throw them out, but she knew she didn’t dare. She’d never felt more violated. She wondered if she should try to somehow contact Johannes, but she knew he had so much to do. She decided not to do anything and instead went upstairs to their bedroom. She closed the door to make sure nobody was watching her and pulled open the bottom drawer of the dresser to fish underneath the clothing, keeping her attention on the door. She found a lumpy item surrounded by cloth and drew it carefully out. It was a bag, tied at the top by a crude leather thong. She untied the strings and poured the contents on the bed. Five gold coins tumbled out along with diamond earrings and a large pendant. She looked everything over and returned the items to the bag. She placed them into her purse and started packing clothes and a few pictures into her suitcase.
As she finished packing, a nerve of terror struck her. Where was Britta? She’d awoken so suddenly and focused on packing their essentials. She raced toward Britta’s bedroom a meter away. The door was open and her bed was empty. Panic rose and she felt her heart beating out of her chest. “Britta!” she called. There was no response.
She leaped down the stairs and into the sitting room. The sofa was gone along with the mahogany end table and several of the lamps. The men were not there, but she heard a sound in the kitchen, the voice of the man who had leered at her earlier. She found him sitting at the table, Britta on his lap. He was spooning pudding into her mouth and telling her a story.
Trude gasped. Britta looked up and smiled. The man did, too, although his grin looked maniacal and crude. “Come here right now!” she ordered.
“Hello, Mommy,” said her daughter.
“Get over here!”
“Come on now,” said the man. “Britta and I are getting along just fine. Why, I have my own little one, almost the same age. They could be friends under other circumstances.”
She ignored him and called her daughter again. Britta hesitated and then finally dropped down to the floor and came over to her. Trude grabbed her arm hard and jerked the girl away, keeping her focus on the man. “Go upstairs right now, and don’t come back,” she whispered to her daughter.
The man’s eyes moved along Trude’s figure again. Britta departed and Trude took a step back. “Where are the rest of your crew?”
“On break, I suspect. I sent them away for a little while. I came into the kitchen looking for
you but found your little girl instead.” He started to stand up, and she took another step away. “Now where did we leave off?” he asked.
She felt her panic rising. She’d thought his crude humor earlier was harmless enough. Now they were alone. She turned and started walking away down the hall, calling out loudly to him as she made her way to the front door. “I’m sure your men will be back soon.”
To her relief, she saw a figure at the front door. When she adjusted to the light, she realized it was Johannes, along with Gunther. She hadn’t seen Gunther in a few years, but he looked the same, a little plumper now and wearing the uniform of the SS. His slumped, slovenly form made the sharp black uniform look dumpy and unkempt.
“Trude, my dear, it’s been too long,” he said. He bowed slightly and stepped forward to kiss her on both cheeks with cracked middle-aged lips. He fought to catch his breath. He removed a handkerchief and wiped it over his forehead and the bald patch that extended to the back of his head. His eyes darted here and there, hungrily appraising their belongings.
Behind her he heard a murmur, and she turned back to see the mover filling up the hallway, his face a mottled red. She moved past Gunther and stood behind her husband.
Gunther, oblivious to the situation, mistook her movement. He waved his hands toward the sitting area. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Frau Bensheim. These are brutal times.”
She felt her anger flare. “Thank you for helping us, Gunther—for a price.”
He started to respond, but Johannes interjected.
“My wife apologizes. We both realize how much risk you take obtaining these visas for us. It’s no more than fair that you should receive a small gift from us in return.” He glared at Trude and turned away from Gunther as he uttered these words.
Gunther smiled as he raised his hands. “It is nothing. I’m happy to assist you.” Trude watched as Gunther’s eyes flickered through the sitting area. He was looking over their possessions with an eager, greedy gaze. He turned to the mover. “Where is everyone else?”
“I gave them a break,” the burly supervisor responded.
“Well, they’ve had it,” snapped Gunther. “I want everything else moved out of here no later than three. Is that understood?”
A Bitter Rain Page 4